known to us both but hidden from the world
by xahra99
Summary: 1707. Eleanor sets out to seduce Charles Vane. Everything does not go as planned. Pre-series. Complete. Part two of an eight-part series


known to us both but hidden from the world

A Black Flag fan fiction by xahra99

"We two have secret signs, known to us both but hidden from the world." The Odyssey.

Eleanor/Vane, backstory.

Eleanor: "You think because you and I used to fuck, you can cross me without any consequences?"

 _Nassau, 1707_

Eleanor Guthrie is just seventeen when she resolves to defeat Blackbeard, take her father's place, and claim Nassau for her own.

It takes her three days to realize that she can't do it alone.

Eleanor weighs all her options. She calculates profit, expenses, and loss and devises a plan. To take down Nassau's strongest captain she must enlist the island's two next powerful crews. But no pirate does anything for nothing. She'll need something to offer in return.

She offers Captain Hornigold Fort Nassau in return for his support. Hornigold is captain of the _Royal Lion_ , a sober and well-respected man. The fort has been gently crumbling to ruin ever since the Spanish occupation. It's useless to the town unoccupied and could present a threat one day. Hornigold and his Jacobite crew have reached the age where a profitable stewardship is far more appealing than a life of plunder on the high seas. He accepts Eleanor's proposal.

That leaves Eleanor with the young captain of the Ranger; Teach's protégé Vane, who caves to no-one and has a complete disregard for danger.

Eleanor casts her net and waits for Vane's approach.

She's nearly out of patience and tired of fending off enquiries by the time Mr Scott coughs discreetly and murmurs in her ear that _Captain Vane requests a moment of your time_.

Eleanor wastes a moment positioning herself just so at her desk. She lays a sheet of paper and a quill pen on the table in front of her. She adjusts her neckerchief, pinches her cheeks to bring out their colour and bites her lips to plump them. Then she calls "Come in!"

Vane saunters in. Metal gleams at his throat and ear. The Caribbean sun glints from the beads braided into his hair and the heavy rings on his fingers. The rings are new since the last time the _Ranger_ docked in Nassau. Their last hunt must have been successful. Eleanor hopes so. It'll put Vane in a good mood.

"Captain Vane," she says sweetly. "You've been avoiding me."

Vane raises one scarred eyebrow. He watches her with his pale eyes for a moment before he says, "Heard you need some place to store your cargo."

Eleanor nods.

Vane prowls to the window and cocks his head at the Guthrie warehouses, which are clearly visible from the small room Eleanor has claimed as her office. "Looks to me like you got plenty."

"Maybe I need more."

"Maybe you do. You Guthries are big shots on this island. Sell our cargo. Take your cut. Make your profit from liquor and whores. Everyone thinks it's Richard Guthrie, but it's you." He folds his arms across his chest and regards her with wary respect. "And I think you're that planning to expand your empire."

It's more words than Eleanor has ever heard Vane speak at once. She allows herself a smile. It's easy to dismiss the _Ranger_ 's captainas just another Nassau thug. Many men have made that mistake and not lived to regret it, but beneath his brutal façade Vane is surprisingly shrewd.

"I'm flattered," she says. "But you didn't come here just to compliment me, did you?"

"Got something to show you," Vane says.

She raises one eyebrow in a mockery of his own expression. "Have you now?"

"You need somewhere to store cargo. I can show you someplace nobody'll ever find."

"I know about the tunnels in the fort," she says.

"Not there." says Vane. "Somewhere else."

Eleanor frowns. Her search for a space to store cargo is a pretence for her plan, but Vane's words intrigue her. "I was born on this island. I know every inch of it."

Vane shrugs. "Maybe. But you don't know this." He straightens, uncoiling from his position on the window ledge in a single feline movement. "I can show you now. Come on, if you're coming."

Eleanor's stomach lurches with anxiety. "What, _now_?"

"Unless you got something better to do." Vane paces over to the door. He's not the strongest pirate on Nassau, or the tallest, but he has a way of holding himself, of taking up more space than he really does occupy, that signifies to the world that you do not fuck with Charles Vane.

Eleanor has no intention of fucking with him _that_ way.

Eleanor nods and pushes back her chair. She leads him out down the backstairs to evade Mr Scott. Of course, Scott will find out eventually. He will probably inform Eleanor's father, who would be horrified if he cared more for propriety than profit. Luckily for Eleanor, profit has always been her father's main concern. Richard Guthrie will be seriously displeased, but she doubts he'll care enough to make a scene.

She walks with Vane towards the coral reefs and jagged rocks that fringe the east coast of the island. Vane seems to have sensed Eleanor's desire for secrecy, or else he's got other reasons to keep a low profile. They take a circuitous route through the maze of alleys, tents and palm-roofed shacks that make up Nassau Town. It's early enough that few people are around, and Eleanor is grateful for their relative anonymity.

"Where are we going?" she asks, stepping over a dead dog.

"Beneath the Wrecks."

She shakes her head. "There's nothing there beneath the Wrecks."

Vane's expression hardly changes, but she senses his amusement. "Then we both wasted a trip."

Eleanor snorts.

They leave the town and thread their way through a patchwork of fields bordered by huts and quickstick hedges. The fields quickly give way to scrub bushes threaded through with creeping vines and hibiscus flowers. Vane doesn't say much, though he glances back every so often to check she's still following. Eleanor walks a step or two behind, watching Vane's muscles shift beneath his shirt as he walks. She likes the way his broad shoulders taper into narrow hips. Something stirs deep in her belly.

Eleanor squints in the sunlight as the jungle changes to scrubby beach. Coconut palms sway above her head. She can see the bare masts of the Wrecks not far ahead. This area of the island remains a palm-fringed wilderness, similar, Eleanor imagines, to how the island was before the Spanish first arrived.

She nearly trips over a dilapidated tent.

 _Well_ , she thinks, _mostly similar._

Vane draws his sword and kicks the tent. The rotten canvas collapses, empty. Eleanor is secretly relieved. She rarely ventures this far from Nassau town. One day she will not fear to walk anywhere upon New Providence. For the time being she is a girl of seventeen on an island where men outnumber women ten to one, and she must still be careful.

Despite his reputation, she feels surprisingly safe in Vane's company. Perhaps it is the way he watches her, as if he's a compass needle and she is his true north. As if she is a prize worth taking rather than a conquest to be made.

"We're here," Vane says gruffly.

Eleanor jerks free from her reverie and sees a limestone cliff looming in front of her. The rock is pocked by wind and weather, pierced with so many holes it seems it's barely survived an artillery assault. Vines trail across the cliff's pitted surface. Water drips from somewhere high above and splashes on Eleanor's face. She wipes the drop away and frowns. She can see nowhere suitable for storing any kind of cargo. "What, _here_?"

Vane nods as he sheathes his sword in his belt. He takes a tinderbox and a pair of torches that reek of kerosene from one rocky ledge. "This is it," he says, lighting the first torch with some difficulty. He hands the brand to Eleanor and makes an easier job of kindling the second. "Follow me."

Eleanor looks doubtfully at the rock face. She already has an inkling that the place won't do for cargo and it's far too far from Nassau, but she is curious. Vane sweeps his right hand across the cliff face and parts a curtain of scarlet bougainvillea to reveal the mouth of a cave.

Vane rips down a few vines, lifts his torch and ducks beneath the threshold, turning to meet Eleanor's eyes before he disappears into the dark. Eleanor takes this as a challenge. She has never liked dark spaces, but she holds up the remaining torch, sets her jaw, and follows Vane.

They descend into the heart of the island.

The path is rocky, and Eleanor's eyes take some time to adjust to the dark. A rock slides beneath the sole of her shoe and she stumbles. Vane reaches back and steadies her waist with one hand. Eleanor feels the heat of his skin strike through her dress. She stumbles again, this time on purpose.

She's wondering whether to stumble a third time when Vane slides to a halt. His movement is abrupt enough that Eleanor nearly plants her face right between his shoulder-blades. Nervous anticipation roils in her stomach. Vane jerks his head away from Eleanor's torch. The cool air smells of scorched hair. Vane stabs his own brand into the sand at his feet and nods at the spectacle in front of them.

"Look," he says.

Eleanor stares. The cavern that stretches out in front of them could be two hundred and fifty feet long and forty feet wide. You could sail a good-sized ship into the lake without scraping the mast. The cave is partly flooded with a clear lake of turquoise water. The roof above her head sparkles with thousands upon thousands of shining stalactites in shades of white and brown and pink. Limestone pillars white as sugar line the walls. It's the most beautiful sight that she has ever seen.

Eleanor walks over to the shore. She bends down and touches the water with her fingers. It's warm.

"Fuck," she says, shaking droplets from her fingers. "There's no way in hell I can store cargo here."

Vane nods. He does not seem disappointed. "I didn't bring you here for that." he says hoarsely. His voice echoes from the cave walls.

"I didn't come here for that," admits Eleanor. It's time to put the second part of her plan into place. She could not have hoped for a better location. The cavern is perfect. There is no audience if Vane refuses; no audience if he agrees to her proposition. "I've seen you watching me."

She listens as her words echo through the cavern. Her tone does not falter. She sounds confident. She sounds like she knows what she's doing. Which she does, in a purely theoretical sense.

Eleanor has always known that she will need an ally to oust her father. Nassau has many pirate captains, but none are as young or as obviously interested as Vane. Avery is too old. Hornigold is too staid, Blackbeard too dangerous, and Flint's gaze is fixed on some distant horizon. But Vane is loyal to Teach. He'll need a good reason to betray his mentor.

Fortunately for Eleanor, she has something he wants.

Eleanor swallows.

She needs to fuck Charles Vane.

She stares at his lean form in the torchlight and admits that it's not an entirely unappealing prospect. She has it all planned. She will take off her dress. Vane will be overcome by desire and they will have sex.

Eleanor sets her torch aside and unhooks her corset. Her fingers are suddenly clumsy, and it takes her a moment to unfasten the first eyelet.

Vane raises his eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

The second hook is even stiffer. "What does it look like?" Eleanor asks crossly. She takes a step towards Vane.

Vane stares at her like she's gone crazy. He takes one step backwards, stops, and folds his arms. The distance between them has hardly reduced.

Eleanor decides she must try harder. "I want you to fuck me," she says, unfastening another hook.

"What?"

"I want you to fuck me," repeats Eleanor, a little irritated. This is not what she intended. She is starting to reconsider her opinion of Vane as a perceptive man.

"Do you have any idea what it is that you're asking?"

"Please," Eleanor says. "I spend more time in a brothel than you do. Are we going to fuck or not?"

"Here?" asks Vane. "Now? You think I'm going to jump on you like some fucking animal? Is that what you think I am?"

"A pirate," says Eleanor. She rolls her eyes and decides not to mention that her plan counted upon Vane ravishing her without pausing to think too much about it. She reaches the bottom of her corset and begins to unlace her shirt. "I've seen you staring at me down on the beach. I think it would be better if we just got it over with."

"Sounds appealing," Vane says. "You want to fuck. Just that?"

Eleanor shrugs. "What else is there?" She unlaces her shirt and shrugs it off over her head until she stands there naked from the waist, wearing nothing but her skirt and boots. Her grandmother's pendant presses coldly against the skin between her breasts.

Vane stares at her as if he's never seen a pair of tits before, though Eleanor's done her research and knows this to be untrue. He blinks and shakes his head a little. Then he looks at her again. Not just the tits. All of her. He just keeps on staring until Eleanor's cheeks flush.

"What are you looking at?" she demands.

"You," he says quietly.

Eleanor steps a little bit closer and stares at him right back. She takes in every detail of his sharp-featured face; the scar in his right eyebrow, the narrow braids in his hair, and the way his eyes follow her everywhere.

Vane reaches out. He captures an errant strand of Eleanor's hair and hooks it back behind her ear. The back of his hand brushes her cheek. There's still an arm's length between them, but the atmosphere crackles like static. Eleanor takes one unsteady breath.

She leans in and kisses him. Vane runs his thumb across her jawline, tilts her face towards him and kisses her so hard she never doubts he means it. He tastes of salt and leather. They kiss again, messy, demanding. Eleanor moves down and bites at Vane's throat. She curls one hand around the nape of his neck.

Vane lasts a few seconds. Then he curses and twists from Eleanor's grip. He bends his head over her tits and licks her nipple. Eleanor gasps. Her hands clutch at his hips.

Vane's hands move down to the waistband of her skirt. Eleanor tolerates his fumbling for a moment, amused by the sight of the infamous captain of the _Ranger_ defeated by a belt buckle so simple the rawest cabin boy could have unfastened it in seconds. She's about to show him how it's done when he tells her "Lean back," in a voice even hoarser than normal.

Eleanor places one hand on a limestone pillar and slides her legs apart. Vane hikes up her skirts. She hooks a leg across his shoulders. Then he puts his head between Eleanor's legs and all her plans go straight to hell.

"That good?" Vane asks thickly.

Eleanor gasps. She means _yes, wonderful_ , but she can no longer form words.

She writhes as Vane swipes his tongue across her and does something that makes her squirm. Her tits ache. Her consciousness simultaneously expands and contracts until she is aware of every breath of air upon her skin and focused on the rising warmth between her legs. Vane's hands press into her hips and slide down to cup her ass.

"You want more?" he asks her.

Eleanor yanks Vane up. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him hard. His mouth tastes like the sea. He presses hard against her thigh and buries his face between her tits as her hands dive down towards his belt, and there is more, so much more. Vane fucks like he fights, like he will die or else emerge victorious, and like he doesn't much care which.

They come adrift, drunk on waves of greedy, frantic pleasure.

Much, much later Vane says, "We need to go."

Eleanor rolls over and spits a strand of hair from her mouth. Her skirts are sticky, and she has sand _everywhere_. She feels a pleasant ache between her legs. "Why?"

Vane hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Torches are going to burn out soon."

Eleanor examines the torches. He's right. The cloth wrapped around the sticks has burned nearly to ash and the stink of kerosene is threatening to overpower the cavern's smell of sex. "One thing," she says.

"Mmmm?" says Vane lazily.

Eleanor rests her head upon Vane's shoulder and traces a diamond-shaped scar on his chest. "You can't tell anyone about this."

Vane immediately tenses. He draws away a little, not enough to put any real distance between them, but far enough Eleanor can tell that he's dismayed.

"Not that," she says, impatient for him to understand. "The men. They'll think that if I fuck you then I must fuck anyone."

She feels him relax. "Glad to hear I'm not just _anyone_."

"I have plans," she tells him.

"Thought you might."

"I have to make Nassau take me seriously. And that starts with me making quite clear that anyone who messes with me is going in the fucking ground."

"Don't worry about that." Vane says. He reaches up and strokes her hair again with that gentleness she wasn't expecting. "I'll protect you."

His offer touches Eleanor. Soon she won't need his protection. Quite possibly she can't afford it. She smiles at him instead. Vane smiles back slightly, though there's something tense in him that wasn't there before. His gaze drifts sidelong to the crystal waters.

"Come on," he says, rising without any outward sign of effort. He draws his knees up, jumps to his feet, and offers Eleanor his hand. His palm is calloused between his thumb and index finger and there's a scar around his wrist that might have come from chains.

She hesitates a moment before she takes his hand.


End file.
